And Your World Shall Crumble
by Olfrik
Summary: Harry goes on an involuntary trip and uses it to get revenge on Voldemort, Dumbledore and the fates themselves. timetravel
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The air in the small chamber was dry. If it wasn't for the access to the other chamber - he called it 'the storage'- he would have gone crazy by now. His scar was throbbing painfully for months now, but that would soon end. He had tirelessly worked to find and understand a ritual to break the link to Voldemort. Nevertheless, it was a risky undertaking. But he would be mad if he ever got out of this godforsaken place and that wouldn't help anyone, least of all himself. He had to take revenge on Voldemort and on Dumbledore and lastly on the Goblins. A revenge that would hurt far longer then a simple cruciatus curse. No, he wouldn't curse them, that was too simple; he would make everything they had worked for in their lifetime crumble to dust just when they thought they had succeeded. And they would watch helplessly and realize that their whole life was gone to waste on a whim of fate. Just like his own. That dish would be served cold.

The edges of the silver chalice gleamed in the flickering torch light and the sickly green potion burped in regular intervals. Everything was ready. The runes circle was drawn, the dagger was coated with the other potions and Harry's heart was thumping so hard, as if it wanted to hear its echo in the deathly silent chamber.

He cleared his head a last time to calm down and walked into the circle, carefully stepping over the drawings. The ritual dagger in one hand and his wand in the other he went from one rune to the next, checking them a last time. Taking his place in the middle of the circle, he cut his forehead with the dagger carefully, creating a circle around the scar, then cutting a mirrored lightening bolt over the existing one. Blood dribbled slowly down his face and he was slightly surprised that it didn't hurt, rather numbed the whole area.

Finished with the cutting of the rune that should nullify the link that was associated with the scar, he held the dagger over the chalice and let three drops of blood fall into the potion. It created a swirl of red in the acid green mixture but didn't combine. Then he took his wand in both hands and began to chant. It was a long string of parseltongue, that grew more ominous the longer it took. The hissing reverberated in the chamber like a dangerous sword cutting the wind, deadly but oddly rhythmical, building echoes and growing ever louder.

By the end of the chant, a pale yellow beam flew out of Harry's wand into the potion and then the pain started, cutting though his eyes like a hot needle. He could identify the other at the end of the connection suddenly. The snake like creature inside of him was stirred into awareness as it was struck with the same pain. The pain pierced the creature like a lance, he could actually feel its pathway. The creature, not more than a foreign awareness buried in the depths of his mind, an ominous presence of anger and hate was sliced straight through and seemed to dissolve into something less defined, though it still oozed the same hatred and anger.

And Harry, captured by the rush of painful magic was dragged along. Concentrating with the aim of cutting all connections, destroying the monster that infested his mind, Harry was taken by a lurch from the other side. It was drawing him in. Frantically drawing back and summoning all the strength he had, he pulled. On what, he did not know. All he knew was that he had to stop himself from being drawn in by that hateful presence, he was deathly afraid that he would be trapped there by his own magic and wouldn't get out, ever.

And so he pulled, summoning all the magic he could within his reach and pulled back. He could feel the presence on the other side struggling and realized in that moment that Voldemort didn't want to pull him in, he wanted his magic. Sure that he couldn't hold on with the same strength much longer, he put all his effort in a last abrupt pull, hoping to disconnect the other by just whipping his magic out of the others reach. With a final lurch, the connection folded in on itself, but his elation was short-lived, the snake like cloud neared him so fast that he was completely taken off guard when thousands of shattered pieces seemed to pierce his own presence and merge with his own.

And then the memories started.

A boy sitting on the sidelines of a courtyard, watching the other children play.

A boy listening to an older man, being told that he was a wizard.

A boy vowing for revenge on a classmate.

A boy soaking up knowledge like a sponge.

A boy hoping for freedom and independence.

A boy realizing that placing trust in someone will only result in pain and betrayal.

A boy studying wizarding culture, etiquette and idols, to exploit their weaknesses, understand their machinations and base of power.

Ever growing anger and hate.

A boy combing the library to find out, how Dumbledore always knew, just by looking at him.

A boy discovering occlumency and sorting his emotions like ammunition to fuel his magic.

A boy being consumed by his own hatred whenever he looked at Dumbledore. And carefully hidden triumph when Dumbledore finally couldn't look into his eyes anymore.

A boy that painfully built his standing in the arena of the Slytherin house.

A boy finally ending the stalking of the ugly Hufflepuff girl with the help of his masters pet.

A boy accepting the apprenticeship of Salazar Slytherin himself, preserved in a ring.

A young man learning the finer aspects of utilizing his emotions in the dark arts night after night.

And finally killing, travelling, learning.

By this point Harry realized what was happening and tried to withdraw from the ever faster moving stream of memories. But it was a fruitless effort, his own memories began to mix in with the foreign ones, until he no longer knew which where his own and which weren't.

With growing confusion he distanced himself from the whirlpool of memories, not being able to identify with them anymore, feeling for the fist time that magic was whipping around him like an agitated horde of hippogriffs. The magic that he had drawn with the memories gave him the power to finally cut the weakened connection and put an end to the whole ordeal.

By the time he became aware of his own body, he knew that something was wrong.

Magic was swirling around him frantically, he could taste the agitation in the air. He would blow up tonight if he didn't do something straight away. He recognized the magic as his own and tried to pull it in, succeeding partially. His wand still clutched in his right hand he pulled and pulled, drawing the magic into himself as if his life depended on it, which it most probably did. His wand was growing uncomfortably warm but he didn't stop drawing the magic into himself.

When he finally opened his eyes wide enough to see his surroundings, he saw shattered furniture, smoking and sizzling potions stains on the wall. The air crackled with energy and with every new burst, different runes on the formerly unmarked walls and ceiling would lighten up. He tried to draw the magic in again and could feel himself staggering. He was glad that he had only worn his boxers for the ritual, he was hot, sweat was burning his skin and his hand was numb with pain, still clutching his wand.

More and more runes where lightening up and Harry was aching all over with the effort to draw even more magic in. The last thing before unconsciousness took him, was a sharp pain in his wand hand joined by an explosion of colours and sound.

He awoke in pain. Not that anything seemed to be broken. Except his right hand, there was something seriously wrong with it. It felt numb and the irregular twitching in his fingers brought searing pain.

His head wasn't much better. He couldn't remember anything. Yes, he did have memories, but they were a jumbled mess unassociated with himself. He felt like someone had been obliviated him and then poured the contents of a gallon sized pensive in. 'Strange', he

thought. He couldn't make heads or tails of the state of his mind. He had had a finely organized mind, hadn't he? But he also had the impression that it shouldn't be only organized, it should be a weapon. 'Where in the hell did that come from?' But the concentration to solve the mystery in his head was lacking, he was in too much pain. The very air hurt his bare skin.

Groaning, he opened his eyes to see nothing. It was pitch black all around him. With that he fell unconscious again.

The next time he awoke, he felt slightly better, but still he couldn't make out the slightest shape in the darkness. His bones were weary, he felt old, he thought as he tried to sit up. Not even trying to utilize his right hand, he felt the stones piercing into his skin. He tried to feel his way to get a better impression of his surroundings and could only detect more stone. The air was dry and dusty. He ached all over and was sure that he wouldn't make it far in his state. He needed help. His right felt as if it was burning from the inside. Carefully lifting it, he almost pierced his eye out with his own hand. It smelled like burned flesh and he didn't dare touch it, sure that he would pass out from the pain.

On a whim he called 'lumos', awaiting a light somehow. What he got was a searing pain in his right hand and so he passed out again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

A disgusting smell assaulted his nose when he next woke up. The air was warm and damp, he could hear a slow bubbling and a pair of feet shuffling. He opened his eyes to be greeted by two lines of large, yellow and sharp teeth and opened his mouth to scream. Hacking and coughing he scrambled back. The creature widened his eyes and took a step back.

"Calm yourself, wizard!" The creature said in a raspy voice, lifting its hands in a gesture of peace.

"Goblin," Harry rasped and started couching again.

After assuring himself that the goblin wouldn't butcher him immediately, he calmed down and opened his mouth to ask what was going on, only to start a new coughing fit. The goblin handed him a cup of what was presumably water. The boy eyed the cup suspiciously and looked back at the goblin. The goblin on its part seemed to get irritated with him and barked.

"Wizard, I was paid to heal you and answer any questions you might have about your situation. I propose you drink now!"

That sounded like a valid reason for a goblin to heal a wizard and he finally drank. Setting the cup down, he looked around for the first time. The room was small with a low ceiling. The walls were polished stone but didn't help the impression of a cave that this room seemed to give. He was sitting on a small cot, his back against the wall. He had been covered with a thin sheet and now sat, clad in only a hospital gown pressed against the wall. Relaxing slightly, he lifted his right had for inspection. It was one big ball of bandages. They where soaked in a purple liquid which seemed to have become encrusted in some places. He looked up when the goblin cleared his throat.

"My name is Rosdack, I am a healer and am charged with your recovery. We found you two days ago in an unused part of the tunnel system. Had we not expected your arrival, you would have surely died down there."

"How?", asked the boy and the goblin lifted his hand.

"Let me explain first and then you can ask questions." The goblin interrupted.

"We have a vault in our trust and specific instructions to carry out, someone obviously knew that you would arrive. We are not sure who the person was, but he or she is most certainly dead by now. We held this trust for more then eight hundred years. A possible explanation is that it was a seer, but we cannot know and it is not our place to find out.

What is important now, is that we know that you came through a time portal. How and where from is not for us to ask, but it is important that you get back to your time.

We are paid to heal you, give you access to the vault and to deliver a letter to you."

With that the goblin pointed to a stool next to his bed. On it sat some clothes, a small golden key and a scroll of parchment.

The boy nodded. He was too numb to flip about his situation, he had to keep his cool and get the most out of this goblin. And if he was honest with himself he was much to sore and still exhausted to do any kind of temper tantrum.

"What is the date?"

"August, 17th, 1847"

"Where am I?"

"You are in Gringott's, though you should expect to be moved to the ministry as soon as you are healthy enough."

"Why the ministry?"

"You are charged with underage magic use, though you might want to look out for what they really want."

Harry suspected something similar, why the goblin found it necessary to give him that advice, he couldn't comprehend. He would need to know something about this time. There was no way these ministry people or anybody else would use him in their games.

"I would like to read the newspapers of the last ten days or so." The boy looked expectantly at the goblin. If the goblin was paid for this service, he should make good use of it.

"I assumed you would ask." With that Rosdack the goblin healer left the room, leaving the boy with a bundle of newspapers on his lap.

Trying to unwrap the package, he starred at his bandaged hand. It didn't hurt anymore. Carefully removing the bandages he could only stare in shock. His hand looked like a birds talon. From the wrist on it was covered in light brown scales. Three sharp claws in front and on in the back, each of them ended in an almost golden claw. He flexed them and looked on as it curled into itself. Stretching out again, he studied the claws. He was sure he could scratch out some eyes with that. His palm had dark lines running over the inside of each palm and connecting in the middle. This was were he had suffered the most severe burns. The lines looked as if they where burned into his flesh.

He wondered once again what had happened but came up empty.

Coming out of his shock, he grabbed the package of newspapers and began to read the topmost one.

_**Light Lord Marcus MacAlpin speaks about the defeat of the Head Councillor of the Dark Armies Nicholas Grayham.**_

_In a press conference yesterday evening the Light Lord Marcus MacAlpin, British Minister of Magic, spoke of the final defeat of the dark armies and their Head Councillor Grayham. _

_Two weeks after the final battle in the Nottingham forests MacAlpin honoured the brave and faithful fighters on his side, the members of the Order of the Phoenix, with the Order of Merlin, second class for their courageous fight against the darkness that threatened wizarding Britain. _

_In the Nottingham forests they fought the dark council members themselves, resulting in the defeat of Grayham and thereby disbanding the rule over the dark armies. MacAlpin assured us, that the last members of the dark armies are being captured as we speak. _

_The vampires have fled to Russia, though the Russian Minister, who calls himself 'The Siberian Tiger' refuses to turn over the criminal creatures for execution by the British government. _

_The werewolves gave up their fight immediately and will therefore spared of execution, if their trial shows that they won't be any threat to our society. New werewolf laws will be released by the Wizengamot next week. For a detailed accounting of the new laws, see page 3._

_The dragons were transported to a newly secured reserve in Rumania, the trolls and giants to reserves in Ukraine. Several other dark species were executed immediately for their inherent malevolence, such as several magical snake species (among them basilisks and runespoors), manticores, hellhounds and grims. Banshees fled to an unknown location._

_The involvement of goblins and dwarfs could not be proven and is therefore still questionable. The head of the goblin nation, Ricknor, claims that the upraising of the goblins three years ago was in no part associated with the dark war, but an act of defence of the treaty from 1494. The ministry had prompted the goblins of Gringott's to seize all assets of dark wizards, which the goblins refused. One has to wonder then, why the goblins would protect the financial base of the dark armies and still claim to not support them._

_Light Lord MacAlpin had prevented a goblin rebellion by negotiating with the goblins and convincing them to deny convicted criminals access to their vaults. The ministry was therefore not able to use the assets in the war effort._

_Light Lord MacAlpin further assures us that the sudden raise in muggle economy is still in observation by the ministry, though so far no breach of the secrecy statutes by the muggleborns could be detected. It is therefore most probably a development of the muggles themselves._

He lifted his head from the papers and frowned, that society seemed out for blood of anything remotely dark. He would have to assure the ministry that he was a light wizard. That was by no means an easy task, he knew that both boys couldn't be called light wizards by any stretch of the imagination, though one of them seemed to have a problem with his sanity as well.

He would have to come up with a name. For one thing, he didn't really know who he was, he wasn't even sure he was one of the boys though logic suggested it. The other reason was that even if he was one of the boys, both had a long line of wizarding ancestry. That would just bring problems if the families heard that he claimed their name. He didn't belong here and therefore shouldn't associate with anyone. Fetching the scroll from the stool on his right, he hoped to find any answers there. The parchment was old and rather leathery. In the end it was only a short note:

_This is not your time. You have to return to your time as soon as possible. Enrol in Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, the hat will help you to find the way back, as well as the centaurs. Hurry!_

No help there, either. He would have to check if he was one of the boys first. Standing up gingerly, he made his way over to the small washbasin in the back corner that hat a mirror hanging over it. He was still weak.

The first impression on looking in the mirror was that he was clearly not one of the boys. His complexion was a lot darker, almost Italian, while both boys were very pale. He had the same black hair as the boys, but his temples held grey streaks. Though his face looked like that of a grown man of about 20 with his angular shape and sharp features, he was rather small and thin. He couldn't tell how old he was, his guess was around seventeen. His body was clearly not fully matured. His eyes were neither the bright emerald green of the one nor the deep blue of the other, they were a deep green, almost black. He wondered if they seemed so dark because of the dim light in the cavernous room. He had no scar on his forehead either. He was clearly not one of the boys. That complicated things a little. That meant he had the shattered memories, most of which he couldn't make heads or tails because they where fractured. It was easy to get information in small parts, but every slightly more complex search for information would result in a jumble of fractured memories.

Now to come up with a believable name that wouldn't put him in a dark context. Both boys had put much effort in the research of their heritage. The taller one had clearly no association to any light family. All of the families he had found somehow related to him rooted back to Slytherin. Though he doubted that all Slytherins were dark, he had to consider the fact that he could be easily persecuted in the current political climate. The other boy had a number of families to offer, the largest one was the Potter line, but also other prominent wizarding families of mostly light or undeclared association. As long dated and large as the Potter family was, he didn't dare to associate with them, though they more often than not hat produced strong light wizards.

But the mother of the boy was a Kromdell by blood. A line that was cursed to sire only squibs in the 16th century. Rumour has it that the Head of the Kromdell family broke an oath and therefore dammed his family line. Through the line lived on in the muggle world to this time, none of their members carried the name and they would proceed to sire squibs for a long time still. The mother of the boy had never claimed the heritage and it was therefore reasonable to assume that the knowledge of the family relation was lost to her and the wizarding world.

Through the affiliation of the Kromdells to the light was not passed on, neither was one to the dark. They were never in any political limelight, probably not important enough to be. No Kromdell was ever especially magically powerful, influential or inventive. They were clerks, scribes and sales people. Nobody would remember them if it wasn't for the meticulous documentation of wizarding bloodlines in Britain.

"So, Kromdell is it then." He said out loud. "Darian Kromdell."

Then he remembered that the wizards loved to give several middle names and his boys had come up with fictional names that they would rather be called then Tom or Harry. In some ways they were so eerily similar that he couldn't distinguish one from the other. 'So each of them can put two names in!' he offered to his inner pensive. And his name ended up to be Darian Dominic Gideon Leroy Duncan Kromdell. That sounded about as ridiculously wizard like as Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, perfect!

In one way he was glad that he wouldn't be spending his time here, walking on eggshells in fear of a crazy Light Lord, on the other hand he was really tempted to take the chance he had waited for, to get to know the young Dumbledore and watch as he got older. And then, when he has given all his life force to one cause, rip the carpet from under his feet. _In the end he knew what it was like to have lived a lie._ He would carve into his gravestone.

"Wow, " he thought, "the vindictiveness of the boys must have gotten into me."

Now for the plan. He had to go to Hogwarts, have a talk with the sorting hat and the centaurs and then find the way to go back. Back to where or when, he was not sure. He was just sure that it was several years in the future.

So, he had to check the vault here at Gringott's and pay my tuition or if the money wasn't enough just slip in and try to snatch the hat, which would be hard to do. Or he could try to find some sponsor for his Hogwarts tuition – the poor orphaned boy with the puppy dog eyes. Either way, it would be a lot easier if he went legally to Hogwarts.

He had to get a new wand also, he wondered how he would grip the wand with the claws. He would have to disguise the claws. If for no other reason then not to be recognized in the other time. He would have to get a new wand for his left hand. That would be difficult, he was no good with his left arm. Since he had broken it when he was nine and it had to heal on its own, he never had the accuracy of movement or much power in his left arm. He couldn't write with his left hand either.

It was two days later that Darian was fit enough to leave. He had slept a lot in that time and spent his waking hours reading old newspapers. The war, that was obviously ended not long ago, seemed to have been a combined effort of many shunned magical races to establish a united ruling body other then the wizarding ministry, which seemed to nurture a disgust for anything not human. The term _magical creature_ was actually created only thirty years ago and described according to the ministry every magical being that was not human, effectively encouraging the impression that they were wild beasts that have to be subdued, or "regulated" like the ministry liked to call it. The fact that they immediately classified a vast majority of them as dark, which seemed to be synonymous to inherently evil, shocked Darian.

He had read that many species had collaborated in this _Dark War_, among them Basilisks, Manticores, Vampires, Werewolves but also Centaurs and Veela.

Even so close to the events, factual information was hard to come by and what he knew was more guesswork than actual knowledge. He didn't doubt for one second that the actual happenings would be lost to glorifying propaganda within only a few years.

The knowledge that history was rewritten again and again by one party or another was nothing new to him, seeing it actually happen was nonetheless a hard hit. There were so many holes in the accounting of the conflict that he had to wonder, who would be so arrogant to want to satisfy an interested reader with that patchwork. He would never look at history books the same way again.

A lot of the background information was explained by the goblin healer, who's name Darian had already forgotten. He could clearly see the brainwashing that was going on in the newspapers and read between the lines, so it took him little effort to come up with the right questions to ask.

The goblin was very courteous and professional and Darian was thankful for that. He couldn't help but find goblins creepy with their sharp teeth and no goal in life but to make money. But he didn't know much about goblins and so didn't know what got them excited, other then a large benefit from a business transaction. He had to stop that thought, because he was sure that he hoped never to see an excited goblin. He respected them for their professionalism, which made it easy to treat them as business partners rather then one helping the other. He wouldn't want to be in dept to anyone, especially not a goblin. They would do anything for money and so it came with little surprise that they had first cashed in on his treatment and then sold him out to the ministry, for a nice sum, for sure. And he couldn't even blame them, he would have done the same, probably.

It was finally time to leave and face the outside world, the ministry in particular. When he dressed in the robes that were given to him, he found a leather wristband left on the stool. He wondered about it and shrugged, putting it onto his right wrist. When he closed the clasp, his claw disappeared and the leather seemed to close around the stomp where his hand had been. Feeling with his left hand around the stomp, he discovered that his claw was completely gone, not only invisible. Grateful for the nice piece of disguise he wondered whom he would have to thank for that. He straightened out his robes, put his hair into a tie on the nape of his neck and waited for the goblin.

He didn't have to wait for long. Watching the goblin from the corner of his eye, he wondered once again, what his name was and had to finally admit defeat. He had to be more careful than that in the future, he reminded himself. Remembering these details could make a difference another time.

"I need to see the vault before I leave. My name is Darian Kromdell, it was nice to meet you." He said, then waiting at the exit for the goblin to lead the way. The goblins eyes glittered but his expression never changed. Maybe there was indeed more to the name then Harry had discovered?

He left the building escorted by two armoured goblins and a thousand galleons in his money pouch only to be greeted by the ever annoying crimson uniform of two aurors.


End file.
